“Elodie? We’ll get the medical team. I’m sure?—”
Some part of me wants to keep up the charade even as the toxin gnaws its way through my innards. My voice stumbles over my lips. “Fine. I’m f—fine. I?—”
My muscles give. As I crumple from the chair, my mind goes blank.
Thirty-Six
Byron
“Leave me alone.”
The harshness of Elodie’s voice rings through my memory, setting off a renewed flare of shame.
I stare down at my lunch plate. I don’t remember picking up this ciabatta turkey sandwich and that side of truffle fries. I’ve arranged the fries into a uniform row without even noticing.
Every nerve in my body feels as if it’s crackling, on the verge of either catching fire or sizzling out.
I don’t know what got into me yesterday. I was so furious when I saw that she’d come back to the club—but she started talking about being threatened, and something in my chest broke open—and then her hand on my arm, her deep green eyes gazing into mine with what almost looked like devotion…
I lost my head. I thought we were going off the rails together, mad and desperate.
For what?
I couldn’t tell you. All I’m sure of is it felt so right, so perfectly aligned, the fracture of her breath and the surge of my own desire…
And then I was spilling myself in my pants like a fucking preteen having his first wet dream, and she was crying.Crying.Running off like she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.
No, I don’t have much experience with sexual encounters. Other than a couple of brief pawings in my early teens and my relationship with my own hand, I’ve been waiting as patiently as a twenty-year-old guy with a functioning dick can for the matching at the graduation ball.
It doesn’t matter if plenty of other Luminary students mess around on the side. The Worths have to honor every tradition to the fullest.
All the same, I’m pretty confident that bawling and fleeing after you’ve just gotten each other off is not a normal ending to a hook-up. At least not one both participants were equally enthusiastic about.
I break a fry in half and glance across the cafeteria toward Elodie. Her back is to me, the dark fall of her purple-streaked waves hiding her face from view. Through the drone of cafeteria chatter, I can’t make out a hint of what she and her friends are talking about.
Part of me feels like I haven’t done enough. I should march over there, drop to my knees, and plead for her forgiveness. I don’t know exactly how I fucked up or what I missed, but clearly there was something.
Even thinking about prostrating myself sets off the other part of me, the part that wants to give her the middle finger and then forget she exists.
Shestarted everything, didn’t she? Showing up at the club. Telling me how amazing I am. Stroking her hand over my arm and into my hair.
So how have I ended up as the bad guy here?
It figures, doesn’t it? When has Elodie Devine ever taken responsibility for anyone she tramples on her way to getting whatever she wants?
The spurt of anger is comforting, but only a little. I don’t totally believe my own dismissiveness.
I glare at my ciabatta and snap another fry in half.
And Elodie whirls in her chair.
Her body buckles forward, her shoulders slumping and shaking. Is she… throwing up?
I find myself on my feet without deciding to stand. Her friends are clustering closer around her, Cadance Hathaway’s mouth curled with disgust, Mia Somerset’s eyes round with concern. A shocked silence ripples through the room, enough voices hushing that the awful retching sound reaches my ears.
Salvatore Cosgrave comes barging over like he’s going to fight the pool of vomit. What the hell does he think he’s doing?
Stella Kingsley waves him off in an anxious movement, her jaw tight. As she turns back toward Elodie, crouching next to the other girl, Elodie’s body goes completely slack.
